


Like It Is

by Devilc



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, JSA
Genre: Best Friends, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al Rothstein, Todd Rice and picking up the pieces</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like It Is

**Author's Note:**

> Written pre _Infinite Crisis_.
> 
> This is a story I wrote before I wrote the Ring of Fire stories, so it's not a part of that continuity. I wondered how these two guys are going to pick up the pieces and ended up with this.

Todd spent most of the flight over thinking he might need the air sickness bag.

It took him about a week just to write the damn letter and another to send it. He could have made a phone call. He could have had his father make the phone call. Hell, he could have had his father or his sister just take him over and the doors would open  clearances would be no problem.

... And Al would have still had the right to say no.

Todd knows he couldn't have taken an immediate, personal, face to face rejection. Thus, a letter. It put some distance into it all. Gave him some space to be safe.

The answer came on a 3x5 card. "Yes" and who to contact to arrange a visit.

But "yes" didn't give a damn clue as to what kind of reaction Al's going to give him, no matter how well deserved, and that's what has got Todd's stomach tied up in knots as he signed his name in a ledger and submitted to an excruciatingly thorough examination.

"Are you okay?" The guard asked, seeing how pale he looked as they trudged down the bland florescent light and linoleum hall towards ... where ever it is he's going to talk to Al.

This guy has no idea who I am, because if he did, I don't think he'd be so nice. "Yeah. Just nerves."

"Trust me, he won't be able to hurt you. And this guy, as prisoners go, he's alright. Never gives us any problems."

And Todd wished more than anything he could touch his shadow powers because even now he associated that with feeling safe, hidden, untouchable. But no. He had to face Al as a man. Face to face. No hiding behind shadows. (Even if he could.)

The guard opened the door and Todd stepped in only to feel his knees buckle from shock.

He thought would take a seat and speak to Al over a phone. An inch thick slab of wire mesh plexi between them.

But no. It's Al in a straitjacket and shackles, his beautiful auburn hair shorn short, inhibitor collar around his neck, strapped to a hulking steel block of a chair that's formed straight out of the no-skid deckplate on that side of the room. And even still he's so massive and powerful, and then there's the look in his eyes and Todd wanted more than anything in the world to have his shadows. He clawed for them, reached for something that's just. not. there.

Instead, feeling oh so small and vulnerable, knowing that the look of shame and hurt in his eyes mirrored that in Al's, he woodenly walked to the plastic lump that's molded out of the floor on his side of the room.

He couldn't quite make his eyes meet Al's again, and instead he studied the line on the floor between him and Al, where steel met plastic laminate, and with four guards in the room, there's not going to be any privacy, and he and Al both sucked in a deep breath and said, "My therapist said "

Pause.

"Sorry, why don't you " again in tandem. And they had to laugh.

And, tension broken a bit, Todd looked at the guard who came in with him and said "Does he have to be all "

"Yes, it's the rule."

Al spoke at the same time, "It's the way things are, here. No exceptions." Then, in a quieter voice, barely above a whisper, "I just didn't think it was going to be so hard, though, you seeing me ... like this."

"Same here, Al. You don't know how ... I don't have my shadow back." And one of the guards gave a small gasp at that, and Todd knows he obviously had no idea he was in a room with two SPBs, or he just figured out who Todd used to be. "It's strange being like this. I feel naked."

Pause.

He can't keep his voice even as he said what he came here to say. He can't not cry as he choked out how sorry he felt. After that, he can only bury his head in his hands and let the tears leak out, and there's so much more he wanted to say to Al about how much he still loved him, and how much he regretted all the mistakes he made, and how much knowing that he hurt Al hurts him, and how much he regretted being such a fucking coward, and how much that cost everybody, and how seeing Al, here, now, like this, hurts worst of all, because he knew he had a hand in it. And that Al shouldn't look so ashamed, because compared to him, Al's got nothing to feel bad about.

But he can't. Not in a room with four other people. Not in a room where he can't touch Al.

But this was all he got. This was all either of them got.

When Todd finally gathered himself to the point where he could speak again, he whispered, "Please tell me Al, that someday, you can maybe forgive me."

A loud, gasping, shuddering breath pulled his head up. Al's crying just as hard, only he can't bury his head in his hands, or wipe away the tears, or even blow his nose, and Todd wanted to go to him and tell him to stop, that it will be okay, that he's got nothing to cry about.

And between the shaky breaths, Al gasped out that he can't forgive him, because there's nothing to forgive and he's sorry he ever held himself fit to pass judgment, and look where that got him.

The cosmic unfunny unfairness of it all sat like a lump in Todd's chest. He hurt people because ... well, he could. He thought it was his right. Sure, he was mind twisted at the time, but ... doesn't mean that there weren't people who would have nightmares for the rest of their lives, or grieve for lost love ones. Yet, today Todd's the one walking around free, and he had a life, including a boyfriend.

Al never killed anybody who didn't already have blood on their hands. And yet he's the one chained like a rabid beast.

It just doesn't make sense.

"Does anybody else ...?" Todd asked.

Al smiled weakly. "Courtney sends me letters from time to time. She wants to come visit, but she can't do that on her own. And of course, Mom." Pause. "I've also gotten a message from you know who."

"Oh."

Ruefully. "There will always be a place for me in Kahndaq."

Todd didn't know to say to that.

Softly, voice barely above a whisper, Al said, "He loved me, you know. Still does, I think."

Todd, actually started at that. "Um... I understand." Really, it felt like a knife to the chest. Something he could've had with Al, but 

"I think about him, you know. I think I was drawn to him because ... he reminded me of you. Sort of."

"Really? How so?"

"He's a solitary man who carries the weight of the world on his back. He doesn't have many friends, and when he lets someone in, it's unconditional."

Oh.

One of the guards cleared his throat. Their 15 minutes was up.

As the guard escorted him out, Todd looked over his shoulder and said, "You're right about that, Al. It's unconditional, and it always will be."


End file.
